Revenge In Regency Society: Brushed by Scandal / Courting Miss Vallois

A smile ruffled his mouth. ‘And have you had occasion to save the young lady from herself?’

‘Good Lord, no.’ The sensual curve of his lips brought a series of highly inappropriate thoughts to mind, but Anna forced herself to ignore them. ‘She is one of the most intelligent young women I’ve ever met. She is mindful of the proprieties and quite capable of telling a gentleman to watch his manners if she feels he is out of line.’

‘Tell me, how do you come to be so involved in the lives of all these young women?’ Barrington asked curiously as they sat down together on the velvet settee. ‘Surely your father would wish you to pay more attention to your own future than chasing around after everyone else’s?’

Anna felt the familiar warmth creep into her cheeks—an annoyingly common occurrence since meeting this man. ‘One can do both at the same time. Helping someone else navigate the path towards marriage does not mean I cannot walk the path myself.’

‘But if you are too busy looking out for the welfare of others, how can you see to your own?’

‘I hardly think I am doing one to the exclusion of the other,’ Anna said defensively. ‘Besides, what I do for these girls is important. All too often they find themselves swept up in the emotion of the moment and don’t stop to think about the repercussions.’

‘And so you step in,’ he said softly. ‘Like you did with Mercy Banks and Fiona Whitfield, and God knows how many others, in an attempt to save them from themselves.’

‘It is all very well for you to mock me, Sir Barrington, but you cannot deny that—’ Anna broke off to stare at him. ‘How did you know I was involved with Fiona Whitfield?’

‘Do you really need ask?’

‘Yes, I fear I must. Fiona’s mother and father were adamant that word of what happened to Fiona not leak out. I gave them my word that I would say nothing and, since the young man was sent abroad, I don’t see how you could possibly be aware of what took place.’

‘As it happens, I was making enquiries into the activities of Miss Whitfield’s uncle,’ Barrington told her. ‘I learned of your association with the family at that time. And though I did not delve into the particulars of Miss Whitfield’s situation, I did learn of your involvement with her whilst speaking to another family member.’

Anna gasped. ‘Someone else knew what happened to Fiona?’

‘I’m afraid so. But, like you, they were sworn to secrecy. And it worked out well enough in the end. She married Lord Priestley’s son earlier this year and I understand they are very happy together.’

‘Yes, thank goodness. It could have turned out so badly for her, and all because of that despicable man.’ Anna sighed. ‘It really isn’t fair, you know. A man may tempt a woman with honeyed words and longing looks, yet she is the one who must behave with propriety at all times. If he manages to steal a kiss, he is not thought of any the less, whereas she is deemed to have loose morals.’

‘Sadly, it has always been thus,’ Barrington remarked. ‘Society makes the rules and we must obey.’

‘No. Men make the rules and then demand that women follow them. It is no wonder we sometimes falter.’

She saw the surprise in his face. ‘Am I to assume from your comment, Lady Annabelle, that you yourself have faltered in the past?’

‘That is none of your business!’ she exclaimed.

‘No, I don’t suppose it is.’ He laughed softly, the sound sending shivers up her spine. ‘But your reputation doesn’t suggest a woman who would be easily led astray. I find my curiosity piqued at the thought of you having ever done anything wrong.’

‘Then you will just have to live with piqued curiosity,’ Anna said, abruptly standing up.

‘Anna, wait, I meant no offence,’ he said, likewise getting to his feet. ‘If I’ve inadvertently touched a nerve, I apologise. It was never my intention to hurt you.’

Anna shook her head, too distracted by unpleasant memories of the past to notice his lapse into familiarity. ‘And I did not mean to be abrupt, Sir Barrington, but I have no wish to talk about what happened in my past.’

‘I understand. We’ve all made mistakes, some worse than others. But given your untarnished reputation and excellent standing in society, it’s obvious your mistake, if that’s what it was, did not serve as your undoing.’

‘It could have,’ Anna whispered, ‘had a friend not come along when she had.’

And that was the tragic truth of her brief flirtation with the Honourable Anthony Colder. As a naïve seventeen-year-old, Anna had all but thrown herself at the god-like creature, believing the smiles he had bestowed upon her were the result of a genuine and mutual affection. Little had she known that his interest had more to do with her father being the Earl of Cambermere than it did with any charms she might possess herself. Anthony had been an avid social climber, as well as the most handsome man she had ever met. With those laughing blue eyes and a smile that set butterflies dancing in her stomach, she would have given him anything he’d asked for. And if he’d had his chance, he would have taken it.

Mrs Mary Fielding had known that, too. A twice-married woman wise to the ways of men like Anthony Colder, Mrs Fielding had seen the growing infatuation between the two young people and had guessed at its source, being more familiar with Anthony’s background than most. She had known of his gambling debts, his easy way with women, and his devil-may-care attitude. And on that evening when Anthony, having drunk too much brandy and feeling far too sure of himself, had caught Anna alone in the gazebo by the lake and torn her gown in a boorish attempt at seduction, Mrs Fielding had appeared and promptly sent him packing. She had stayed with Anna until the worst of her grief had passed, and then, after drying Anna’s tears, she had lent her a shawl to cover the tear and had sent her regrets back to their hostess, explaining that Lady Annabelle was unwell and that she was seeing her home in her own carriage.

It had been a painful lesson, but one Anna had learned well. She had gone home that evening and made no mention of the event to anyone. She regretted having told her parents and her brother of her affection for Anthony, but after that night she never mentioned his name again. Nor, thankfully, did she see him. Mrs Fielding informed her not long after that he had left the country.

Anna had never been so glad to see the back of anyone in her life. And though she thought it was impossible for her to blush any deeper, she was wrong. Even after all this time, her face burned at the memory of her stupid, stupid mistake.

‘Tell me what happened, Lady Annabelle,’ Barrington said in a low voice. ‘Your secrets are safe with me. I know, better than most, the value of discretion.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ Anna said quietly. ‘But the only way to completely ensure one’s secrets is by keeping them entirely to oneself.’

‘I’m sorry you cannot bring yourself to trust me.’

She looked up at him, surprised that he would mention trust in such a situation. ‘I do not know you, Sir Barrington.

And the trust of which you speak is generally reserved for relationships between husbands and wives.’

‘I’ve always thought that bonds of trust can exist between friends as well as lovers.’

‘Perhaps, but it takes time to establish that kind of bond,’ she said, sounding flustered even to her own ears. ‘You are a single gentleman and I a single lady. It isn’t the thing for us to … share secrets of an intimate nature. But if you were looking for a wife, you would do well to consider Miss Erickson. Apart from her many other attributes, she is a genuinely nice young woman.’

‘What makes you think I’m looking for a wife?’ he asked.

‘Why would you not be? You just told me that we must abide by society’s rules, and society dictates that men and women should marry. Is that not the purpose of these gatherings? To place one in the path of the other?’

‘I suppose it is.’ He hesitated a moment before adding, ‘But I think it only right to tell you that Miss Erickson would not be of interest to me, even if I were of a mind to marry.’

If he were of a mind to marry? ‘Are you telling me you intend to remain single?’ Anna asked, eyebrows lifting in shock.

‘That was my plan, yes.’

‘But what of your obligation to your family?’

‘I fear the task of continuing the Parker name will fall to a distant cousin with whom I am not acquainted,’ Barrington said blandly. ‘As to the obligation owed, I am more concerned with the welfare of the lady with whom I might wish to spend my life than I am to the furthering of my ancestral line.’

‘Then I would have to say you are unique in your thinking,’ Anna said. ‘Most society gentlemen are concerned with their family name and marry to beget an heir.’

‘Yes, but you should know by now that my life is not that of a typical society gentleman. My reputation is such that people come to me when they wish to learn things about others. And because I ask questions people have no wish to be asked, I continuously put myself at risk.’

‘Surely you exaggerate the danger.’

‘I do not.’ His smile held secrets she could not begin to imagine. ‘The people I usually investigate are not the honourable men you meet in society, Lady Annabelle. They are scoundrels and blackmailers, men who operate beyond the boundaries of the law and who are completely without conscience. When I get too close, they get nervous. And when I convict them, they look for retribution.’

‘But surely not of a life-threatening kind!’

He shrugged, as though trying to make light of it. ‘There have been attempts on my life in the past and I have no reason to believe there will not be attempts in the future. The easiest way to ensure my silence is to eliminate the possibility of my saying anything at all. That said, I will not knowingly put anyone else in danger.’

‘But if these men have issues with you, why should you fear for the safety of those close to you?’

‘Because there is no better way to strike back at me than to hurt someone I care about.’ They had walked, by tacit agreement, onto the balcony. Barrington rested his arms against the stone balustrade and stared down into the garden. ‘And who could be dearer to me than the woman to whom I would give my name … and my heart.’

Anna felt her mouth go dry. Strange that the breeze should suddenly feel so cool. Was her body overly warm? They were standing quite close; close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. ‘So you would choose to live … without a woman to share your life,’ she whispered, ‘rather than expose your wife to possible harm?’

‘In a heartbeat.’ He turned his head so that his eyes bored into hers. ‘How could I say I loved someone if I didn’t care about their safety? If the thought of something happening to them didn’t tear me apart?’

Anna shivered. ‘You could give up what you’re doing. You are a gentleman. You have no need to work.’

‘And what would I do with myself then?’ He reached out and took her hand in his. ‘I have servants to run my estate and stewards and secretaries to see to my affairs. But a man must have something of his own or what reason has he for getting up each day?’

As he spoke, his fingers caressed the palm of her hand, smoothing the tender skin at the base of her wrist. His touch was light, non-threatening—and it turned Anna’s world upside down.

She closed her eyes, the sounds of the room beyond fading into the distance. She knew she should pull her hand free, but she was neither willing nor anxious to do so. His thumb was painting circles on her skin, lulling her with a touch.

‘We get up because … that is what the world expects of us,’ she said huskily. Dear Lord, what was he doing? Not content with massaging her palm and wrist, his thumb was continuing its treacherous voyage along the inside of her arm, causing disturbing quakes in her sanity. ‘Surely there is … a kind of security, perhaps even of comfort, in the carrying out of our daily task?’

‘Ah, but there are far sweeter pleasures to be enjoyed than that, my lady,’ Barrington murmured as he brushed the back of his free hand against her cheek. ‘The smoothness of a woman’s skin, the softness of her hair.’ He gently twined a lock around his finger and held it to his face, inhaling the delicate fragrance. ‘Finer than silk and more precious than gold.’ Then, releasing it, he gently grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up. ‘Last but not least, the sweetness of her lips …’

Anna had been kissed before … but never like this. Never by a man whose touch was enough to make her long to release her tenuous hold on respectability. His mouth moved over hers slowly, thoughtfully, shattering her resolve and filling her with a desperate need to be loved. Surely she deserved this. Surely, after everything she’d been through, she was entitled to some small measure of love and affection for herself?

As he deepened the kiss, Anna raised her arms, twining them around his neck, wanting to be close and then closer still. His tongue teased her lips apart and heat poured through her body, flowing like molten fire through her veins. She moaned, feeling desire rise and want settle low in her belly. Ah, the sweet, sweet pleasure …

But the pleasure was bittersweet. Even as his arms tightened around her, Anna knew it could come to nothing. Barrington had no intention of marrying. He’d just told her as much. And if he wasn’t willing to offer marriage, what they were doing now was not only wrong, it was self-destructive. She wanted more from him. Much more than he was willing to give. And in the end, she would be the one who walked away with her heart in ruins. And therein lay the true sadness of the situation. The one man with whom she could have foreseen a future was the one man with whom it would never be.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ she whispered, breaking free of his arms.

‘Anna, what’s wrong?’ he asked huskily.

‘What’s wrong? I’m wrong,’ she whispered. ‘This is wrong. Because right now, I’m no better than the foolish young women whose reputations I fight to protect.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘Is it? You just told me you have no intention of marrying, yet I allowed myself to be held in your arms and kissed like any cheap whore. What is that if not the height of stupidity?’

Anna flung at him. ‘At least Mercy Banks was hopeful of a marriage resulting from her liaison with Lieutenant Blokker! You’ve made it clear there is no such happy ending in sight.’

His face darkened, his breathing heavy and uneven. ‘I said that because I don’t want you harbouring false hope. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.’

‘And is that supposed to make me feel better? Am I supposed to be comforted by the knowledge that you desire me, yet have no intention of offering marriage?’ Anna shook her head. ‘There is a word for that kind of relationship, Sir Barrington, and it is not flattering.’

‘It was never my intention to compromise you, Anna,’ he said quietly. ‘I care too much for you.’

‘My name is Lady Annabelle. And if you care so much for me, leave me alone!’

Without waiting for his answer, Anna picked up her skirts and fled. Angry tears blurred her vision as she ran down the length of the balcony. Idiot! She’d made a fool of herself again, allowing herself to be held and kissed as though she were a naïve young schoolgirl. She, who prided herself on knowing all the games and all the excuses, had let herself be taken in. And by doing so, Barrington had undermined everything she believed in. When she had allowed him to kiss her, she had wanted to believe that it meant something. But it was obvious to anyone with an iota of sense that it meant absolutely nothing. Sophisticated Barrington might be, but he was still a man, and when it came right down to it, he wanted the same thing as every other man. Pleasure without commitment. Love without obligation. The very things she kept warning her young ladies to avoid.

The breeze came up and, once again, Anna felt chilled. She hadn’t stopped to fetch her wrap before venturing outside, but neither was she about to run back into the drawing room now.

Observant eyes would see the evidence of her tears, recognise the flush in her cheeks and put their own interpretation on the events—and nothing on earth was going to persuade her to tell anyone what had really happened.

She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if Barrington had followed her. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she saw that he hadn’t. All right, so she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so, but at least this time she was old enough to recognise it for herself. Barrington had made his feelings for her clear. The episode would not be repeated. From now on, she would treat him exactly the same way he treated everyone else. Coolly. Professionally. Without emotion. He would never make her cry again.

It was a good ten minutes before Anna felt calm enough to venture back into the house. Not by the drawing room through which she’d left. That would be far too embarrassing, especially knowing that Barrington had gone back in only a short time ago. Instead, she walked to the end of the balcony and, finding another set of glass doors, tried the handle. Thankfully, it was unlocked and pushing it open, she walked into a small study—only to stop and gasp in shock.

Her brother and Julia’s maid were standing by the door, locked together in a passionate embrace. ‘Edward!’

At once, the pair sprang apart, but it was too late to disguise what they had been doing. The maid’s dark hair had come down around her shoulders, her gown was in disarray and her lips were red and swollen.

Embarrassed, Anna looked away. Obviously, her brother wasn’t above seducing pretty housemaids, whether they be his own or someone else’s. Refusing to meet his eyes, she murmured, ‘Excuse me’, and then immediately made her way to the door. Edward said nothing, but she heard his mocking laughter following her through the door. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her brother had once again proven himself the immoral creature she believed him to be.

And what about you? the little voice nagged. Are you so much better? So much more virtuous?

Anna felt her face burn with humiliation. No, perhaps she wasn’t. She kept remembering the passionate encounter she’d just shared with Barrington, the shameless manner in which she had allowed him to kiss her. Oh, yes, she’d let him kiss her. She wasn’t about to lay the blame for what had happened entirely at his door. He was gentleman enough that if she had asked him to stop, he would have—but she hadn’t done that. She’d wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him. To watch his head bend slowly towards her, and to feel his mouth close intimately over hers.

It had been everything she’d expected—and more.

But Barrington was no more likely to become her husband than Julia’s maid was to become Edward’s wife. They had both been indulging in impossible fantasies.

‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone …’

A sobering thought. As Anna made her way back to the drawing room, she realised that the proverbial stone would never find its way to her hand.

Chapter Seven

For the next few days, Barrington went around like a bear with a sore head. Unable to forget what had happened between Anna and himself at the baroness’s dinner party, he was quick to anger and slow to unwind, because he knew he’d hurt her. And hurting her was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.

He’d still been in the drawing room when Anna had finally returned, but she hadn’t approached him again. She had remained coldly aloof, treating him as though he wasn’t there. He wasn’t surprised that she had left shortly after.

He’d left early as well, all pleasure in the evening gone. Upon returning home, he’d made for his study and downed a stiff glass of brandy, followed in quick succession by two more. But the potent liquor had done nothing to assuage his guilt, or to help him find escape in sleep. When the morning had come, he’d been as tired and as irritable as when he’d gone to bed.

Much as he was this morning, three days later, as he made his way to Angelo’s Haymarket rooms for his ten o’clock appointment with the Marquess of Yew’s son.

Barrington deeply regretted having made the appointment.

The last thing he felt like doing was teaching the finer points of fencing to the gangly nineteen-year-old son of a man he neither liked nor respected. However, he had given Yew his promise that he would show the boy a few things and he was a man who kept his word. All he could do now was hope the hour passed quickly and that he didn’t do the boy an unintentional injury.

Unfortunately, Lord Bessmel was right when he’d said that word of the lesson—or demonstration—had spread. By the time Barrington arrived, the room was filled to overflowing with gentlemen of all ages, some carrying swords, some just there to observe. It was worse than he’d expected.

‘Ah, Parker,’ Lord Yew greeted him with a smile. ‘Good to see you. Quite the turnout, eh? I vow you draw a larger crowd than Prinnie.’

‘Perhaps because you put it about that this was to be a demonstration, rather than the private lesson we agreed to,’ Barrington said.

‘Really?’ the marquess said lazily. ‘I don’t recall saying this was to be a lesson. But never mind, now you and Gerald have a suitable audience.’

‘An audience that comes armed and ready to spar?’ The marquess smiled. ‘You should be thanking me, Parker. You have your pick of opponents and since we both know there’s not a man in the room who can best you, you’re guaranteed to come out on top. Why not just have fun with it?’ ‘Because that’s not what I do.’ Barrington’s jaw tightened. Unfortunately, they both knew this was something of a command performance. A ‘small additional favour’ in exchange for the marquess’s silence over Peregrine Rand’s affair with his wife. And while Barrington would normally have refused to play a part, all it took was the memory of the look on Anna’s face when she had spoken of Rand’s guilt to make him change his mind. He didn’t particularly care about the other man’s feelings, but he would have done almost anything to prevent hers being further injured.

‘I’ve lived up to my side of the bargain, Yew. I trust you intend to do the same.’

‘Are you questioning my integrity?’ the marquess asked, peering down his long, patrician nose.

‘No. But I know how angry you were with Rand and I don’t want to think that all of this has been for naught.’

The marquess chuckled. ‘I can assure you it has not. In point of fact, I wasn’t really angry at all.’

Barrington’s mouth tightened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The marquess’s expression was remote as he gazed at the milling crowd. ‘Rand is not the first man to make love to my wife, and, God knows, he won’t be the last. Susan is voracious in that regard and while I enjoy sex as much as the next man, I am not inclined to engage in it as often as she might wish. So I turn a blind eye to her affairs. It flatters me to know that she is still beautiful enough to attract other men; it flatters her to know that she is desired by men younger than herself.’

No stranger to the unusual, Barrington was none the less bewildered by Yew’s unexpected admission. ‘Then why did you go to the trouble of persecuting him?’

The marquess’s gaze narrowed. ‘You really don’t know?’ When Barrington shook his head, Yew said in amusement, ‘Because I was asked to.’

Having casually dropped his bomb, the marquess strolled away. Barrington, aware that the eyes of the room were on him, allowed nothing of his anger to show, knowing it would incite too many questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. But he was angry. Furiously so. Someone had been playing with Peregrine Rand—and, by association, with him.